At a recent signing for Ozzy Osbourne's latest autobiography (the enigmatically titled "I am Ozzy"), a fan of America's Favorite Occult Dad was arrested. The fan, a male of what one can only assume is a patchwork, mercurial character, was arrested for toking up at the Barnes & Noble at which Mr. Osbourne's literary event was being held. Once taken into custody, it was discovered that this exciting individual also was carrying a variety of homemade fireworks, as well as assorted additional narcotic substances. In order to disarm said homemade fireworks, the talents of a bomb squad were required.

Obviously, this man is awesome. He should start a band immediately, as he may be the only rock star living in America today.

You may find this conclusion a little hasty, but let's examine the facts. This guy woke up around 11 a.m., ate a breakfast burrito, smoked a cigarette, and looked at his watch. "Oh dear," he thought, "I only have half an hour until I need to be at the book-signing for 'I am Ozzy.' I had better get ready." He then proceeded to make some homemade fireworks, using some things he just had lying around the house, like dragon teeth and smelt and nitroglycerin and Electric Lizard Manic Panic, and whatever else you use to construct homemade fireworks. After tucking these into his satchel, he paused to think a moment, and realized that of course he should also bring a spliff and a few baggies of unidentifiable white powders along with him, in case Barnes & Noble was out of FRESH DRUGS. Heaving a sigh of contentment at his readiness for anything and everything life might throw at him, he threw on his favorite Northface jacket and proceeded to Ozzy Osbourne's Poetry Reading for Moms (or however Barnes & Noble branded this crap--I'm not exactly sure why and how Ozzy Osbourne and Barnes & Noble got into bed together, and I'm not sure that I want to know, since I expect that Meatloaf had something to do with it.)

After he arrived at the Barnes & Noble's Starbuck's Heavy Metal Poetry Slam, our guy realized that he wasn't quite . . . mellow enough for this scene. (And what a scene it must have been! Did I mention that all this happened in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida? For those not in the know, Palm Beach Gardens is distinguished by its strict zoning laws, its plethora of gated communities, and its relatively high population of retired PGA golfers. In other words, it's entirely possible that our superfan could be 80 or 90 years old, which makes him even more impressive.)

Barnes & Noble can be kind of intense, what with all the pumpkin bread and Raffi CDs. So our guy merely breaks out a doob to take the edge off, Meryl Streep-style, and the Palm Beach Gardens police got zealous and busted him. To be fair, they were probably really excited since they've never gotten to perform an actual arrest before, but that's no excuse for hassling America's Last Goth.

This guy has out-Ozzied Ozzy. I vote that we fire the real Ozzy, and install this Floridian in his place. The Kids don't need a guy who will influence them to read, drink coffee and commit suicide--they need a man who will kick it "Golden Girls"-style, rocking more ganja, breakfast burritos and fire than any gated community ever could hold.